Fwd: An hour from madrid

I'm about an hour away from the madrid chamartin train station and I happen to know there's a wireless hotspot there (mainly the last one I was able to sync up from...) so I figured I'd try to get something put together before arriving.
I just spent the last night on a train from algeciras -- there was a little internet terminal there at the train station that charged a euro for 10 minutes -- I tried sending a short entry with 30 seconds left that said nothing more than "I'm alive -- heading toward madrid..." I know I hit send before my time ran out, but with gmail I'm never quite sure if it actually succeeded (sorry gmail, I'm quite greatful for the free pop access, so I hate to knock your service).
Anyway, you all know me, and I can't just tell you what I've been up to before I rant and rave about something. I've spent a few nights on trains, and last night has to have been the worst. I got a couchette from algeciras and this was one of the six person ones that I was expecting every other time and somehow never got up until now. There were only four of us in the compartment, but I was one of the ones on top, and one of the other guys was also on top. He was exactly the one guy I'd rather not have had to share a compartment with. Pute madre! (sorry, to all the spanish speaking world, but I've heard a lot of that from the girls I was hanging out with the last few days, and somehow if I sware in spanish I feel like it won't disturb my mom as much =) Anyway, this was your run of the mill hippy type guy with long hair not quite yet rolled into dreads, scrawny frame, a couple tatoos, relatively dirty, a bit on the smelly side, constantly coughing... And I got to sleep a few feet a way from him. Considering the couchette was about a foot shorter than me, there wasn't much I could do but fold my legs which tends to work best when your on your side. It was easier to face away from the wall, but that meant facing him, which, if he was facing me, meant smelling his breath... About two hours into the ride I roll over through the veil of darkness notice he's doing the exact same thing the german girls had to deal with from the guy in the riga hostel -- wanking off. Come on! I'm trying to sleep here! Have some common decency and use the bathroom! An hour or so later the ladder starts rattling constantly and I keep having to push it to one side to stop it. I see a flash of light and I think maybe its my neighbor trying to figure out how to stop the raddle -- apparently he has his own way to deal with it, because the flash of light is from a lighter and he isn't looking at the ladder -- he's warming up some hash to go have a smoke... Soon there after he disappears out into the hall and comes back smelling as you'd expect. At this point I decide I've had enought --- I put my flip flops on and spend the rest of the night in the cafeteria car. I mean really -- talk about rude, he could have at least offered to share ;-)
Ok, enough of my rants and raves. I know some of you really just want to know what the hell I've been up to. I decided to hell with everything else and if I was going to morocco I couldn't cop out and just do the ferry ride over, tap my hands on the ground, say finally, I've been to africa and then head back right away. Instead as I think I mentioned, I hopped on a night train to marakesh with a spanish/argentinian couple and checked into a hotel there. My second day there I ended up hanging out mostly with Carlos and Luciana and getting a little bit of practice with my spanish. I have to say I am quite a bit messed up with languages at this point -- always back and forth between spanish and french. The other day I spoke a few words of german with a waiter and half way through groaned because I broke into spanish!
Mostly we just wandered around the medina haggling with the shop keepers -- they were looking to buy some shoes, but I don't think they ever actually did while I was around. The only thing I bought all trip was a bit of saffron -- and I know I overpaid. A little over 5 bucks for 2.5 grams. It may have been cheaper than in the states, but I'm sure I could have done better if I'd shopped around and haggled for it. This was in Fes though and I guess I'm getting ahead of myself.
Anyway, the first day in marakesh I was trying to find the palace and decided the easiest way to find tourist stuff was to follow other tourists. As I didn't want the two australian girls to think I was stalking them, I introduced myself and found they also had no clue where they were going. We spent a while looking for the palace only to eventually figure out that all you couldl really do was walk by the big wall around it -- not particularly interesting. Afterwards we had dinner and tea, and I think it was during my conversation with them that I finally had a revelation as to why european music is so plastic and overproduced -- all the comments I've made in the past about the music here, they don't apply to the UK -- they have their own set of underground music. I was talking about my music preferences when it comes to listening to spanish or french music though, and I tend to like the more poppy crap, largely because its easier to understand the lyrics. Why it took me so long to put myself in the europeans shoes and realize they don't speak native english, so of course they'd prefer stuff that's easier to understand, and even more so, the familiarity of the same songs played over and over again year after year, because you already know the lyrics to them, well, duh, that kind of all explains it!
Yeah, yeah, I know, enough of the desultory remarks. I'm pulling into the station soon though so I'll have to wrap this up quickly. Lets see, left marakesh for a night in rabat, stayed at an overpriced hotel because I didn't have a map and couldn't find anything else. Didn't think much of rabat so I left the next day.
Met an australian couple on the train to fes and walked to the hostel with them. Split the cost of a guide with them the next morning to see the medina -- that's when I paid too much for the safron. One shop was selling skarves and clothes and after a good 10 minutes of me trying my best at french to explain why I wasn't going to buy anything, the shopkeeper gave up the hard sell and admitted he spoke fluent english because he'd lived in texas for 20 years! We had a good laugh after that. At lunch with the aussies, a moroccan at the table next to us asked where we were from. He said he thought I was american and flashed his illinois drivers license. Then went on to tell us how he married an american woman, and after a few questions from us quickly clarified that he had a wife here and his american wife was just a fake so he could get the citizenship. Apparently the going rate is 10k if anybody wants to make a quick buck =)
The next day I took a bus over to chefchaon with the aussie couple. Some guys at my hotel in marakesh had highly recommended it and given me a card for the hotel where they'd stayed. We weren't disappointed -- aside from some of the annoyances of the peddlers trying to sell you stuff or show your their shops, it was very tranquil up in the hills.
From there I headed out on a bus with plans to hop on a 36 hour ferry to france. On the bus though I sat behind three spanish girls who had just come over for a quick visit and were going to spend the night in asila before taking their ferry back to algeciras. From there they were driving to a town outside of cadiz and then to bilbao -- Ane offered for me to join them (depending on whether the luggage all fit) and that was too much of a spur of the moment adventure for me to pass up so I jumped at the opportunity. Unfortunately the luggage didn't fit, and it was raining so we didn't make it to asila -- instead we just split a room at a hotel in tanger and then they were nice enough to squeeze me in for a ride from the port to the trainstation. So that's a quick summary of morocco...
I'm pulling into madrid now and think my batteries about to die, so ciao!